


Happy Valentines

by ICryYouMercy (TrafalgarsLaw)



Category: Julius Caesar - Shakespeare
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Saturnalia 2014, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 21:45:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2788859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrafalgarsLaw/pseuds/ICryYouMercy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Valentine's Day, and Brutus did not plan for this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Valentines

**Author's Note:**

> written for rms-sarcastic, for the 2014 Saturnalia exchange. The prompt was "Brutecass. Valentines Day. Brutus forgot. Caesar tries to help".  
> Happy Saturnalia, and I hope you like it.

It starts, as these things always do, with Mark Anthony. Brutus would wonder about it, if he had the time. But right now, he doesn't. Right now, he is panicking, staring at the calendar and today's date, cursing fate, his existence, relationships, and anything else that will hold still for long enough to be cursed.

He had all those wonderful plans, neatly written into giant, but horribly organised spreadsheets, and then things happened, and he managed to forget all about them because of work and politics, and it's the 14th now, and he hasn't prepared anything, isn't even entirely certain what he initially wanted to do, and just knows that it's too late, and surely, Cassius will already have plans for tonight.

Romantic plans. Plans that involve chocolates and flowers and someone very much not Brutus. It always happens like that. Brutus falls in love, and then Caesar needs help with some or other ill-advised political campaign or holding an election or fixing (hiding) the latest scandal, and by the time Brutus isn't working between sixteen and twenty hours a day anymore, whoever he is in love with has already found someone else, someone better, someone who doesn't fall asleep on their office floor mumbling, "Someone should totally stab Caesar."

Mark Anthony, of course, the man who started this specific bout of heartbroken panicking, stands half a step behind and a bit to the left, looking at the very same calendar with a worryingly serene smile. "You don't mean to say you have forgotten about today's rather significant date?" he asks, amusement just barely perceptible in the way his accent inches half a tone closer to the glass-and-razor cleanness of his official speaking voice.

Brutus growls at him.

"I have been so careful to make sure that we could all have some well-deserved leisure today, and Caesar and me have such wonderful plans, and he promised we should have dinner at this marvellous place we always wanted to eat but never had the time. And now you have entirely forgotten? You will not be able to spend tonight at the office, I hope you are aware of that."

Brutus growls a bit louder.

"I am sure there will be something sufficiently educational and political on television that might help you pass the time," Anthony adds, in a tone of very carefully calculated guilelessness and innocence.

Brutus can't really growl any louder, and he has no wish to engage in any sort of conversation with Anthony at this point or any other point in time. "Fuck off," he says instead.

"I was just trying to be helpful," Anthony tells him.

Brutus would have punched him for it, he really would, but before he can turn around to do so, the door opens yet again, and Caesar comes inside, beaming broadly and holding some sort of thing wrapped in bright pink-and-red wrapping paper. "Anthony, dear," he starts, and then pauses to take a more careful look at both of them. He hands the thing to Anthony, kisses him on the cheek, mumbles "happy Valentines", and then turns to Brutus. "You haven't forgotten, have you?"

Brutus makes a face a him.

"You should have said something, I'm sure we could find you someone nice to spend the evening with, you don't have to be alone just because of your career choice, it's not good to be so isolated," Caesar says, visibly concerned.

"Are you suggesting we help him?" Anthony asks, voice made of nine parts disbelief and one part disappointment.

"No, no, nothing like that, don't worry, dear, I'm not cancelling any plans. I just thought we find him some company for tonight."

Anthony inclines his head in understanding, and then suggests, "I am certain that Portia would not mind staying with him much."

"Her girlfriend might," Brutus says. He does not add any insult, but his tone manages to indicate that he is very consciously not doing so, and might have done so easily had he been inclined to do so.

"How about Casca? He likes you, doesn't he?" Caesar asks.

Brutus doesn't think he has the right words to indicate his dislike of that particular idea. However, as he can't think of any gesture or facial expression that could indicate his very decided distaste at that particular thought, he finds himself forced to resort to making a sound not entirely dissimilar to _guuuuääääärgh_ and shuddering violently.

"Okay, okay, sorry, not Casca then. Cinna?"

The only thing that prevents Brutus from doing something entirely rude and possibly career-endangering is the knowledge that Caesar really seems to want to help him. That, and the fact that Anthony saves him from having to ask the inevitable question himself.

"The poet or the politician?"

"I thought the poet, but either would enjoy it. Both might enjoy it."

There is no possible answer to this that wouldn't involve hurting Caesar, so Brutus counts to ten in his head, takes a deep breath, repeats the procedure, opens his mouth to reply, closes it again, counts to a full hundred in his head, and then says, calm as can be, "No, thank you. That won't be necessary."

Caesar looks absolutely dejected. Anthony looks concerned, though if Brutus would have to guess, that concern is roughly ninety-nine percent for his boyfriend, and point nine percent about life and politics in general, and only point one percent, if at all, about Brutus lack of a date.

"But surely there must be someone you wouldn't mind spending the evening with? No one wants to be alone on Valentines day!" Caesar says, after a while.

"Even Cassius seems to have found someone," Anthony adds.

Brutus forces himself not to react to that information. He does not need yet more of Caesar's pity or Anthony's protective rage. He shrugs, and says that he's glad for Cassius, and that he doesn't mind spending the evening alone, and then picks up his briefcase and his phone, and wishes Caesar and Anthony a pleasant evening and leaves.

He manages not to cry either on the street or on public transport (he doesn't trust himself to drive a car just now), and by the time he can close the door to his tiny, empty, dark apartment behind himself his jaw hurts and his eyes are burning, and he just wants to sleep.

So he toes off his shoes, and puts his jacket on the nearest thing that isn't the floor, drops the briefcase, and walks to his bedroom, not bothering to turn on any lights, not bothering to at all take stock of his surroundings, and not even bothering to remove any of his clothing before he finally burrows under his blankets, closes his eyes, and pretends that none of this is happening, and if he falls asleep now, he will wake up tomorrow and it will all have been a bad dream and nothing more.

His phone rings, and Brutus decides that clearly, someone must hate him. It takes some disoriented groping around before he finds it, and then the caller turns out to be Cassius, and Brutus decides that no, it's not someone hating him, it's the entire universe and everyone and everything in it. He refuses the call, and sets his phone to silent, and hopes it's still not too late for all of this to have been a dream.

He doesn't even have the time to get comfortable again before someone knocks at his bedroom door, and then opens it hesitantly. "Please don't have forgotten your phone here, please don't," Cassius mumbles, speaking more to himself than anyone else, Brutus thinks, and then forces himself to stop, because the last thing he feels like doing at the moment is to give Cassius any sort of relationship or dating advice. He stays as still as he possibly can, keeps his breathing flat and even, and just hopes that Cassius will go away again, go on his stupid date and not remind Brutus yet again that he won't have any chances, not now and not ever.

"Brutus?" Cassius asks, carefully approaching the bed.

Brutus doesn't say anything.

"Brutus, unless you just stuffed a lot of pillow under those blankets, you must be here. Please, tell me what's wrong?"

"I'm not here, go away," Brutus says.

Cassius makes a confused sound, and then sits down at the edge of Brutus's bed, placing a hand on the blanket bundle, surprisingly close to Brutus's shoulder. "Please, tell me what's wrong? What did I do?"

Brutus growls, and then sits up, dislodging Cassius's hand. "Go away, I said. You have a date tonight, and I'm sure she's waiting for you and getting annoyed at the delay. Go talk to her, and make your apologies, and don't keep reminding me that I can't have," and here Brutus interrupts himself, literally biting his tongue before the 'you' can slip out.

Cassius flinches as though Brutus tried to hit him, but then, as Brutus keeps speaking, leans closer again, his face crunching up in sympathy and worry. "She? What she? Who told you that?"

Brutus gestures at him, angrily. "Anthony said you have a date, and he's never wrong about these things, and fuck you, do you think a guy would be any less upset about being left waiting? Just go and enjoy your evening, and leave me alone."

It's silent for a moment as Cassius appears to be processing that information. "I can't do that," is what he finally replies.

"What, are you worried? You think I'm such a poor lost lonely useless child that I can't survive an evening on my own? Do I need to get myself a baby-sitter? I promise I won't do anything stupid, and I won't take any candy without asking, and I won't open the door to strangers. Now please, go away."

Brutus knows that he won't be able to do this much longer, feels the tears hot and painful behind his eyelids, and wonders if he should just run and lock himself in his bathroom until Cassius goes away.

"I am," Cassius tells him. And then, at seeing Brutus's expression holds up his hands to silence him for a moment. "But mostly, as Anthony told you, I do have a date tonight. But that won't happen if you keep sitting on your bed and moping."

"Oh, so now you're telling me that I'll be ruining your evening until I stop this?"

"Essentially, yes."

"Great, wonderful. I will brush my teeth and put on pyjamas. I will even have some dinner. I can order pizza. Will you go now?"

"No. I want you to come with me."

And that's it, that's finally too much, and Brutus gives up on holding back his tears, gives up on any pretence of pride or dignity. "Look, I know you wouldn't want… I know I can't have… You deserve someone so much better, I know that, but there is no need to rub it in like that, please, just. Go away. Leave me alone. I'll get over it, I promise, I won't let it affect our friendship or our work, but please don't do this to me right now, it's not fair," is what he gets out, between sobs and sniffles.

"You thought I was talking about…" Cassius says, and then breaks off suddenly, and he wraps himself around Brutus like some sort of especially clingy and affectionate octopus, and makes meaningless comforting noises for a while.

Brutus tries to shrug him off exactly once, and then gives up, willing to take whatever small mercy offered, and trying to store this moment in his memory with as many details as he possibly can.

"You should eat something, come on," Cassius says once Brutus has stopped sobbing for half a moment. There isn't much Brutus can do against being dragged out of his bed just then, and Cassius seems entirely too prepared to take advantage of it. "And remind me to speak to Anthony tomorrow, I can't have them working you to the point where something like this has you sobbing like a child. You are far too stressed, and I want you to take a break, right now. Call in sick for next week. Take a holiday. You've been doing nothing but working and sleeping since New Year's Eve, and that can't be healthy, and I don't want you dying of a heart attack, and I simply won't stand anyone to make you hurt like that, I won't."

Brutus just nods, and doesn't say that it's Cassius who's hurting him, and nothing Anthony or Caesar did. The work is nice, really, especially when it distracts him from things like learning that Cassius seems to have a boyfriend now, a boyfriend who very much isn't Brutus. In fact, he might be able to come up with some sort of excuse now, something that Anthony needed him to do, anything to get out of here and away from Cassius.

He reaches for his phone, wondering just how he might go about it, when Cassius takes it away. "No work tonight," he says. "Anthony promised me you would have the evening off, and I had to threaten grave harm to his petunias before he was even willing to consider you to come in a bit later tomorrow, and I won't have you waste this time on yet more work anyways, even when you call in sick for tomorrow. I'm not wasting any more time, and I'm not letting you, either, you hear me?"

Brutus nods again, uncertain what Cassius means with any of this. He might just let himself hope, and it would be so nice if Cassius were indeed talking about what Brutus wants him to talk about, but he does have a date tonight, and he does have a boyfriend, and there really is no point in dreaming now, is there.

They have made it to the kitchen, and Cassius makes him sit down, and even when Brutus is staring down and trying to pretend that this isn't happening, he can't but notice the tablecloth and his finest cutlery, and wonders how Cassius thought that any of this would in any way be comforting.

There is some shuffling, and Cassius sets something on the table, and when Brutus still isn't looking up, he finally sighs and starts explaining. "I'm sorry, I didn't, I was trying to not make this awkward, but obviously I did everything wrong, and I was so sure that you would like me to, that you might, that it would be alright, and I am so sorry that I just ruined it, but Caesar said you were not averse to the idea, but he must have been wrong, and will you just eat dinner with me, and we pretend this never happened, and I promise I won't bring it up again, but it's Valentine's day, and I thought what better time to try than this, and I really hope you like lasagna, it's mom's recipe, she helped me prepare it, so it's fine, you can eat it, I won't mention this again, but please just eat something, or look at me, or says something, because I'm babbling, and I will inevitably say something embarrassing, or tell you that I've been in love with you for forever, or that you are really adorable when you oversleep and then stumble into the office with your hair all messy, and it makes me want to ruffle your hair, and I'm so jealous of whoever..:"

And Brutus had been looking up oh so very slowly over the length of this speech, had gone from heartbroken to confused to angry to helplessly happy to outright denial, because surely this must be some sort of dream now, some hallucination of his brain to help him cope with the stress, something. Anything.

"You, you, are you saying that, your date, you meant, you were meaning, you were talking about me?" he says, and then looks away again, because that can't be it, he must have misunderstood, he must be wrong, he can't be that lucky, it's simply not possible.

"Yes," Cassius says. "I'm sorry, I didn't want to make you uncomfortable, I promise, I'll leave if you…"

And Brutus can't quite trust this yet, not even when Cassius keeps stumbling over his own words, nervous babbling increasing in speed and clumsiness. "This is a dream, right? I've finally managed to fall asleep, and you are having a marvellous evening out with someone, and tomorrow you are going to tell me all about it, aren't you?"

There is the sound of something scraping across the tiled floor, and then Cassius's hand closes around Brutus's wrist, making him stand.

"Does this feel like a dream to you?" he asks, and then proceeds to kiss Brutus as though there was nothing else he would rather be doing.

When he finally steps back to let Brutus breathe, it is quiet enough that one would hear a pin drop.

"Oh," Brutus says. And then, because he doesn't know where to go from here, and happiness is chocking him worse than heartbreak ever could, he adds, "Dinner will be getting cold."

Cassius seems to drop somehow, or maybe wilt, and Brutus takes a second to understand what he did wrong, what just happened, and he has to sit down then, because his knees feel wobbly and unstable.

He waits for Cassius to sit, and then serve the lasagna, and then, when Cassius moves to pick up his fork and eat and pretend he isn't hurt, Brutus finally musters the courage to reach across the table and take his hand, and say "thank you". Cassius keeps looking at him somewhere between disappointed and hopeful, and so Brutus does the only thing he can think of, presses a kiss to the back of Cassius's hand, and mumbles, "I'm in love with you too, if you still want…"

He doesn't get to finish his sentence, because Cassius draws his hand away, and when Brutus looks to see what's wrong, they are kissing again, leaning across the table, and the uncomfortable position not diminishing the perfection of the kiss in the least.


End file.
